Nuts Pie
by Ophium
Summary: Dean hallucinates the weirdest things when he's high as kite. Complete.


NUTS PIE

"What do you think you're doing?" Sam managed to not-squeak when he got out of the bathroom to find Dean rummaging through the room's closet.

Dean, whom he had dragged into that same room less than five hours ago, nearly unconscious and bleeding like a stuck pig.

Dean, who had been in so much pain that he couldn't suck a breath in and who had been slowly turning an unflattering shade of red until Sam had jammed a shot of morphine in his thigh.

"I'm making pie," Dean announced with a flourish, holding up in triumph a vanilla air freshener shaped like a lemon. He beamed a drunken smile at his brother and showed him all the ingredients that he already had managed to collect.

Sam eyed them wearily. Apparently, Dean was making a pie out of air freshener, toothpaste and what looked like an empty ice bag. "You're supposed to be in bed, Dean," Sam reminded him needlessly.

Dean's skin was too much pale for Sam's comfort and every once in awhile, he could see Dean's legs buckling, like quick and furious Morse code signals warning Dean that those muscles wouldn't be keeping him up for much longer.

Dean wasn't even listening. He wobbled towards the bed's side table and grabbed the first drawer. He opened it and closed it a couple of times, before looking back at his brother, confusion and frustration in his eyes. "Damn microwave is broken, Sammy!"

Sam sighed. Dean and strong painkillers were always a hoot to deal with. At least this time he hadn't stripped down to his boxers, put on a black raincoat over his head and ran to the street yelling 'I'm Batman!' at the top of his lungs.

Fortunately –or sadly, depending on the mood Sam was when you asked him- Sam had dealt with loopy, delirious, out of his mind Dean way too many times to not know his way around. The best way he could describe it, had anyone ever asked for bullet points as how to deal with drugged Dean, Sam would say it was very much like dealing with a five year old, weighting close to two hundred pounds and enough knowledge to kill a man with his bare hands in fifty different ways.

"What pie are you making, Dean?" Sam asked quietly, right dose of interest in his voice while his hands reached out to grab Dean's arm and turn him around, aligning his body with the waiting bed.

"Nuts," Dean announced, grimacing. He even managed to turn slightly green, although Sam figured that probably had more to do with the four inches gash on his chest.

Still, Dean really hated nuts pie.

"Why nuts?" Sam asked, keeping his brother busy as he pushed Dean's legs back on the bed.

Dean looked from one side of the room to the other, not quite focused eyes skimming through every surface like he was searching for something dangerous.

Sam followed his gaze. Other than the horrible shade of purple on the drapes, nothing else struck him as particularly menacing.

"If they're eating, they'll leave us alone," Dean whispered, looking conspiratorially at Sam.

Sam leaned in closer, taking advantage of the position to pull the bed covers. "Who's they?" he whispered back.

Dean's eyes widened, nothing but green pools with black pinpoints at the center, making Sam wonder if, maybe, he hadn't accidentally overdosed his brother. It could be why Dean was looking at him like Sam was the most clueless person on Earth.

"Are you kidding me?" Dean asked, sounding slightly offended by Sam's cluelessness. "The frigging squirrels, Sam! The squirrels!"

Dean covered his mouth with both hands when he realized that he had talked too loud, eyes darting from side to side, probably searching for the squirrels' retribution.

Sam tried very hard not to laugh. Squirrels. "Squirrels are kind of cute Dean."

Dean's eyes stopped their mad search and focused on Sam so intensely that he actually thought that Dean was going to hit him. "Squirrels are not cute?" Sam tried again, appeasing, watching Dean's body relax back into the bed, finally registering that it was horizontal and could finally shut off.

"They don't fool me, Sam," Dean said, his words starting to slur. Whatever energy spike had caused Dean to be up for that long was fading away fast. "I know what they really are."

Sam leaned backwards, back against the bed's board, arm gently resting over Dean's chest, keeping him from moving. "And what are they, Dean?" he asked amused.

Dean looked around again, eyes droopy and sluggish. From the path his eyes were traveling, Sam would say that the squirrels were doing aerobics in the ceiling of the room.

"Rats in dresses!" Dean answered. "That's why... we need the pie, Sam... to put the—"

Sam never found out what the pie was for. Or why the rats were wearing dresses.

By the time Dean woke up again, there was some color back in his cheeks and his skin wasn't as clammy.

And the side effects of the morphine were, fortunately, gone.

Still, Sam had a good laugh the next time they saw a squirrel and Dean surreptitiously yelped.

* * *

><p>This story was writen for the current meme at Hoodie_time and the initial promp was "<em>Dean is given medication for an illness or injury that cause psychological side-effects in him, like panicky feelings, hallucinations, whatever. Sam deals with it, for he is awesome like that." <em>by Maypoles


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